Third Wheel
by Fortuna
Summary: *Mists of Avalon* Three chapters when finished. Arthur, Gwen, and Lancelet look back on their bad luck. Don't expect much, and you won't be disappointed...
1. The Just High King

Disclaimer: I don't own these versions of Arthur, Gwenyfar, or Lancelet (damn!) Marion Zimmer Bradley created them; I'm just playing with them. I'll put them back when I'm done...I guess...  
  
Being crushed under the weight of the unpronounceable and nigh incomprehensible-due-to-Tolkein's-archaic-vernacular Silmarillion, I read The Mists of Avalon to give my poor brain a rest. One of several things that have been scampering around in my fevered mind is the love triangle between Arthur, Gwenyfar, and Lancelet. It refuses to go away. Those three just seem to pluck at my icy, stiff heartstrings and move me to write little soliloquies for each of them. So I will. :)  
Time: Uh...No time in particular. After Beltane. You know...the BIG Beltane.  
PELIGRO! I'm sticking with the book's canon (first time for everything). Be warned that there is some shounen-ai and a few slash references, nothing graphic, of course. If the thought of Arthur and Lancelet having unspoken affection toward each other makes you want to messily disembowel me with a fork, then I strongly suggest that you hit that little 'back' button on your browser. It's canon. I'm going to regret writing this, aren't I?  
  
Oh, and if you haven't read the book, Gwydion=Arthur and Galahad=Lancelet  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, or so I've heard.   
  
I suppose I'm in no position to argue. I want my people to be happy; I want my friends to be happy, but I seem to have a habit of making a mess out of my every endeavor. To please the tribesmen and the Old People, I made the Great Marriage with the land, only to discover, too late, that the priestess who was the Goddess for me was my own half-sister, Morgaine. In trying to please my wife, I cast aside the Pendragon banner for the cross of Christ. Avalon now thinks I mean to stamp out all that does not follow the Church.   
  
To think, the common folk see me as their infallible High King. I am weak as water.  
  
Which reminds me of my greatest blunder...  
  
It came as no surprise to me that Gwen and Lance loved one another. After all, Gwen had no choice in marrying me. Had she been free to do so, I doubt not that she would have chosen Lancelet. I was only a stranger who had agreed to marry her to forge an alliance with her father. Poor Gwen; as much as I came to love her in later years, I think she always believed she was merely someone I put up with as part of a purchase of horses and men.   
  
Perhaps that's what made her discontent... But no, I must not flatter myself. It was Lancelet she wanted since before the beginning, and I was a fool not to have seen it. Of course, I couldn't be angry with Gwen; she hadn't wanted to marry me. And I had never seen Lance as happy as when he was with her. To be truthful, I often worried over him, worried over the melancholy that at times fell upon him like a cold fog. To see them both in such good spirits eased my guilt for ruining what chance they might have had together.  
  
Realization came to me gradually-the way their eyes lit up when they spoke with one another, the lingering glances he sent her way and that she returned, the way the color rushed to her face when he pressed his lips to her hand, so gently, as though she were made of glass. They were happy, and that pleased me. Naturally, I hid my knowledge well; had they suspected me, I am sure that they would have ended their love. I would not be the cause of their misery, either of them, for anything in the world. I had not been raised by the priests my wife so feared; I was not one of those jealous men who lock away their wives as they would a precious jewel. In this I took pride, that when I smiled upon them it was an honest smile, that my love for them had not cooled, but grown stronger. I will admit, small pangs of jealousy did jolt through me at the sight of them, the looks I had never gotten, the smiles that were never for me, the touches that I would never feel... But it was only a tiny thing.   
  
They were happy, and that pleased me.  
  
When most of the court was of the opinion that Gwen was barren, never to produce an heir, I should have accepted it as a blessing from the Goddess. I should have taken my chance and put her aside, taken another wife, and let Gwen and Lance go. They then could have loved without shame, openly. I could have given my kingdom an heir to the throne. Everyone would have been happy. Everyone...  
  
And yet...  
  
That's not what I did.  
  
I professed that I loved Gwen too much to sunder us, and for a long time, I believed it. I promised her that I would never resent her for her barrenness. And to that, I am happy to say, I held true. I would not embarrass her or cause scandal by casting her from my bed. However, I was not the only one to notice my wife's and my dearest friend's fondness for each other, and a far more poisonous scandal arose. There is a name, and an unkind one, for a man who cannot rule his wife... Many of my more powerful vassals were fervent Christians, and I could tell that their respect for me was chipped away whenever they saw the two chatting and laughing at my side, indeed, under my very nose.  
  
And yet...I kept her with me.  
  
I kept her caged, without knowing why. Against all logic, I refused to cut the strings that tied her to me. We all spent years this way. Lancelet would often make excuses to get away from Camelot, asking my permission to go on all manner of ridiculous quests and adventures. He was trying to escape her; anyone could see that. It pained him to stay, but it pained him to leave even more. No matter how many times he left, he always came back, and Gwen lived for those days when she would see him riding home, battered and tired and glorious with some new victory. I could see that his absence left a gaping hole in her heart.  
  
What I wouldn't see was that, every time he rode away, my heart was pierced as well.  
  
Still, even as this new crime awakened within me, we may have yet been spared, had it not been for one night, in which I made an unforgivable mistake.  
  
The Beltane fires had been lit on Dragon Island, even under our Christian court, many of the servants and commoners had left to take part in the sacred rites of the Goddess. Gwenyfar had always had a deep loathing and fear of the pagans, so she came up with a distraction in hopes of luring as many people as possible away from what the priests labeled as sin. She made the preparations and held a great feast on Beltane Eve; it proved a great success for her, and she was very pleased. Lancelet was there... Long after that night, I lamented that he had not stayed away just a bit longer...  
  
It was a joyful occasion, and everyone present became very drunk as the night wore on, I not being the least of them. I remember Lancelet, leaning against me for support as he spoke to Gwen, who was sitting at my other hand. By his slurred speech and her airy giggles, I knew that they must have enjoyed the bountiful wine as much as I had. We all laughed and jested for hours, all thought of eating forgotten (which was just as well, as we could barely put hand to mouth anymore). We were no longer High King and Queen and knight, we were Companions, too intoxicated to guard ourselves or worry over the scorn of others. Lance and Gwen were happy, and I was happy. And slowly, surreptitiously, an idea formed itself in my addled brain...  
  
As the hour grew later and more wineskins were emptied, I was finding it very difficult to stay in my chair. It seemed to keep moving out from under me. Of course, we all found this highly amusing, but we had had too much, me especially, and I heard Gwen suggest that it was time we went to bed to sleep off the alcohol. I clearly could not walk on my own, and Galahad pulled one of my arms around his shoulders, steadying me, and half carrying me through the hallways, Gwen walking behind us in case one of us should topple over.   
  
It was a long journey back to my bedchamber. We had all drunk far too much; we bumped into walls and stumbled to the floor more times that we could count, laughing and shouting garbled curses the entire time. Galahad laughed seldom, and when Gwen laughed, it was usually a feigned titter. To hear them laughing, to know that I laughed with them, included, only strengthened my resolve to go through with what would prove to be folly.  
  
I cannot recall what I said then, as I placed her hand in his and confessed my knowledge of their romance. I do know that they tried to argue with me; they were ashamed, and I could tell that they feared what doom I might decide to bring down upon them. It was difficult to make them understand that I wasn't angry with them, and took long minutes of gentle persuasion.   
  
But I did not have a simple blessing in mind.  
  
I took blame for Gwen's childlessness on myself, saying that more often than not it was the man's fault his wife did not bear. In clumsy, wine-soaked words I proposed that, since kings had in times past taken concubines for the sake of heirs, a queen need not be ashamed of doing the same. And who better, if not her husband's own kinsman and dearest friend? They stared at me incredulously; poor dear Gwen was shaking. Galahad glanced from her to me fearfully, finally conceding, but leaving it up to Gwenyfar to decide. We looked to her expectantly, and when their eyes met, and I saw the longing therein, pangs of jealousy tied knots in my stomach. But they were happy.  
  
It had been my plan to leave them alone at that time, and spend my night elsewhere. The two didn't even seem to notice that I still sat between them. Gwen gripped my hand so tightly that it hurt me; I reasoned that she was frightened, and resigned myself to staying for just a minute more, until she saw that Galahad was no one to fear. Gwen climbed into my lap (I must only have been an irritating obstacle after all) and Galahad leaned over to kiss her, gripping my arm so he wouldn't fall to the floor. My face grew hot; I should have left earlier. Gwen fumbled with the laces of her gown, and out of instinct I moved to help her, three pairs of hands getting in her way more than anything else. My wife sighed in frustration and I kissed her. Needless to say, all thoughts of leaving were abandoned. Eventually, I knew not who it was who kissed me, or who I embraced.   
  
Or perhaps I lie.  
  
For the time being, they were happy, and I had never known such perfect bliss as I had that Beltane; I would never know it again.  
  
I awakened late the next morning. Lancelet had long since slipped away to his own bed, and it was just Gwenyfar and I. Watching her as she slept, I was stricken by her beauty. Her face was peaceful, the long lashes of her eyes lay against her cheeks, and her bruised lips were set in a soft smile. Silky, spun-gold hair framed her tranquil face and spilled over her shoulders and back. An angel could not have surpassed her. I had fallen in love with my wife, at last. I kissed her closed eyes gently, gathered her into my arms and had soon drifted off to sleep again.  
  
Sadly, this newfound happiness was to be short-lived.  
  
When we had both risen a little later, I perceived that all was not well with Gwen. I should have expected it--teaching such as she had received from her priests would not be cast aside; fear and dread proved stronger than love. I had a splitting headache and felt sick from the previous night's drinking, and no doubt she suffered as I did. Neither of us was thinking clearly or had any patience. We were soon fighting, she making accusations in anger that were not entirely the imaginings of a jealous and enraged woman. When she finally said what she had been thinking since our argument started, that I loved Lancelet more than I loved her, that I had used her to coax him into my bed, I lost my temper. My own vile words are burned into my mind, reminding me of my failure.  
  
"You say that again, and wife or no, love or no, I will kill you, my Gwenyfar."  
  
What shamed me most was knowing that, at that time, I made no idle threat; such was the fear her words put into me. I repented of my rashness at once. She insisted that I confess this terrible sin and do penance, so that God might lift her barrenness from her. Now she blamed me. I knew that, zealous as she was, she would believe from not on that I brought punishment upon us, and agreed to speak with Father Patricius. There are many times that I am sure her God hates love, though it is more probable that it is only His priests that seek to hold a heavy hand over us all. But if it made her happy, if she really believed that her God was a village gossip with nothing better to do but peep into bedroom windows and hearts...  
  
I confessed and did my penance, living no better than a beggar for many weeks.  
  
But it was never the same. Lancelet avoided me, sparing only a hopeless glance now and then, and I was too afraid to say anything myself, and thus we drifted apart. Gwen seemed to lock her new knowledge of me away in her heart, nursing contempt for her imperfect husband, who she had never wanted to marry. Nothing could ever be between us as it had been on that one night, when we had all dropped our lies and our fears and simply loved. Those that I loved became those that I hid from, constantly, and they did the same. Gwen and Lance returned to the shadows, loving one another and hating one another at the same time. We had become so confused with talk of sin and duty and loyalty... I regretted the joy I had found and lost. Camelot was falling, and there was nothing I could do to prevent or slow it.  
  
Why did they take something so simple and pure as that one night, and complicate it-turn it against us? I don't understand.  
  
I only wanted to make them happy. 


	2. The Pure and Beautiful Queen

Wow, this is surprisingly hard to write. Especially this week, for some reason. Oh well. Muchas gracias to my reviewers! ^_^ I feel so validated....  
Gwenyfar is hard to write. I think she was more a person to be pitied than anything else, the poor little nutbar. People only know what they're taught, after all... I hope the text doesn't mush together at the top; I've been having trouble with quad spaces lately.  
It's not fair.   
  
Why can't the world ever be kind toward me? I get the distinct feeling that I am the butt of some cosmic joke. Oh, how Morgaine would delight in my misery now. She would, that evil witch! Always, she-  
  
But no, I mustn't blame Morgaine. True, we are on less than cool terms, but she has never wrought harm for me that I can prove. No, my anguish is my own fault, my punishment. I am no heathen; I should know better than to act as I do. Ah, I am such a sinful woman! Even to think of my countless sins after all these years pains me. But penance first requires confession, so I will remember it all.  
  
I had fallen in love with Lancelet before ever I set eyes on Arthur. So, you see, I was licentious from the first. I was an adulteress before I was even married. Perhaps if I had said something to my father, arrangements could have been made for me to marry Lancelet. But I am no man to choose...  
  
Lancelet is a man. Why, if the looks he gave me back then were indeed unfeigned, why didn't he ask for my hand himself? I would find out eventually...  
  
When I learned that I was to marry the High King, my broken heart fell down to my feet. All during that eternal ride to Camelot, I felt as one who was riding to her execution. I was sorrowful and angry. Sorrowful, because now I would never marry my Lancelet; angry, because I was part of a purchase of horses and soldiers, taken sight unseen like a piece of property. Such, however, is the lot for women in life, and another of my sins was that I couldn't accept that. Dear Lancelet tried to soothe my obvious distress by extolling the virtues of his cousin the king, his kindness, his wisdom. With a playful wink, he also praised Arthur's beauty, assuring me that I would be a happy woman indeed and a wonderful High Queen. I agreed half-heartedly, certain that I would be miserable.  
  
I was proven wrong within a week after my wedding. True, Arthur was awkward, not accustomed to women in general, but he was honest and tender, and over time he became dear to me. He lacked Lancelet's cleverness, but cleverness in a king is improper. And he was a good High King. Arthur truly loved his people, all of them, right down to the Old People of the tribes, which was more than I could say for myself. His heart was limitless in its compassion, and I found him faultless for years.  
  
Of course, I was unworthy of him. That should come as no surprise. A good woman would have been content with such a man as Arthur, but not I. No, not I... I really haven't any right to speak of Morgaine's harlotries, for I am worse than she. She isn't married, she isn't a queen... There wasn't a day during our entire marriage that I was wholly faithful to Arthur. Always, Lancelet was in my thoughts, my dreams. We saw one another often, as though we were close friends; he was hardly ever far from me if he could help it, and I would often invent excuses to speak with him. For many years, I assured myself that I was no adulteress, that I hadn't bedded him. ...But adultery is a sin of the heart, not of the flesh. To think of him was enough.   
  
I could have stopped it from going further, from damning us all. I was too weak. May God have mercy on me! If only Britain knew what sort of horrid woman they had as their queen...  
  
Happy as I was with the success of the true faith, there were still an appalling number of pagans in our land. One Beltane (may that cursed ritual be forgotten), I arranged a great feast to be held at Camelot, in an attempt to save even a few of my subjects from the fires on Dragon Island, and the fires of Hell that would surely come afterward. My feast achieved its aim, and in my arrogance I enjoyed myself even more than our guests. Lancelet was there, and that improved my spirits, and my appetite for drink, even more. He too was taking on a glazed look to match my own. Perhaps the only one present more intoxicated than us was my own dear husband. At last, it was decided that we retire for the night. Poor Arthur could barely stand, so Lancelet took it upon himself to support Arthur's bulkier frame. Both were drunk beyond walking, and watching them from behind as they tried to clamber up that first flight of stairs was unduly amusing to me. Of course, I was in no better condition: it seemed as though the floor kept rising and falling unexpectedly, undulating from side to side. I was happy, though, and as we made our way slowly to Arthur's chamber we shared jokes and spoke in a way that no sober man would find intelligible.   
  
Finally, we reached our destination, and it was there that Arthur said something that cleared a bit of the drugged fog out of our minds, that ruined everything...   
  
No.  
  
I ruined everything, because the final decision was left to me, and I chose sin. Arthur explained to us that he knew about...about Lancelet and myself, that he had known for years. Tears started in more than one pair of eyes as Arthur assured us that he wasn't angry, that he loved us as much as he ever did, that our happiness was more important to him than his image. I felt dizzy, and my heart ached, for I knew that everything he said, he said in earnest. I saw traces of pain in his eyes, and behind his words it was as though he was apologizing to us for getting in our way all these years. Apology! We should have atoned for our ways then and there. Lancelet and I should have ended it. I did not deserve such a husband...  
  
Arthur went on, much as I wished he would stop. He took the blame for our childlessness on himself, something that I should have put a stop to. I knew that miscarriage wasn't the man's fault... Then he made a proposal, and I proved myself a failure, a doubly lost soul. He proposed that I take Lancelet as my concubine, so that Camelot might have an heir.   
  
The decision was left up to me...  
  
I cannot relate what happened then, it is too shameful even for my twisted heart.  
  
I don't know why I awoke in the middle of the night. Perhaps it was a strange dream. I was embracing my Lancelet, whose deep breaths told me that he was deeply asleep. Opposite him was Arthur, dear Arthur, who had one arm draped over us both. It is my greatest shame of all, but just then I was so happy... My heart swelled as I smoothed a few strands of dark hair behind Lancelet's ear and watched both of them for a while.   
  
Idly, foolishly, I wondered if Lancelet talked in his sleep. Arthur didn't. Perhaps he would whisper something tender as he dreamed. Perhaps it would only be my name. Arrogance again. I smiled at the thought; my name really sounded like something beautiful and pure when Lancelet said it... Some five minutes hence, I was proven half right. Just as I was falling asleep once more, I heard a small, muffled sound next to me. Straining my ears, I caught the name that fell from Lancelet's lips, little more than a breath.  
  
"Gywdion..."  
  
I was too tired to comprehend the meaning in those terrible syllables, I drifted into sleep, and it wasn't until the next morning, when Lancelet had gone, that I remembered. And I understood. Oh, God, I deserve whatever comes to me...  
  
I awoke first, and was staring in bleary adoration upon my husband when I noticed... Dotting Arthur's body, here and there, were bruises. Little, light, bruises. I puzzled over this for a moment, stroking his arm absently.  
  
And then, as the wine's effects began to wear off completely, the previous night came back to me, and I wept silently in disgrace. To be so selfish, to abuse Arthur's kindness in such a way... I was the very lowest of filth.  
  
Until an hour had passed, and I recalled Lancelet's invocation of Arthur's awful pagan name. I recalled things I had seen with my own wine-clouded eyes. Sinful as I was, there were worse offenders than I...  
  
Horrified, I drew back and studied my husband. My heart softened for an instant: Arthur looked so...angelic while he slept. My Arthur, the Arthur I knew and loved for his goodness, for his purity. But my eyes could not ignore those bruises, those marks that exposed him for what he was, all he'd done.   
  
Sodomy. I could not believe it, could not get my mind around it, but there it was. My own husband. Dear God, my own Lancelet. I was too shocked to cry. My poor heart was shattered again; it was no less than I deserved. What better punishment for an adulteress than to have it thrown back in her face? Then, my humiliation gave way to anger. There was no justifying...that! My gaze on Arthur became a searing glare; I was surprised that he didn't wake up because of it. I could have throttled him at that moment. How dare he? How dare he do such things! He knew better! He was a Christian king and this was a Christian court, a Christian kingdom!   
  
Bitterly, I shunted the blame for everything, the night before, my barrenness, everything, farther away. Farther from me...  
  
Pagans. They were the root of it all, when one got right down to it. Both Arthur and Lancelet had come from pagan stock, were raised pagan. Conversion, obviously, could not wipe out entirely the wickedness that had been nurtured into them since the cradle. And those fires on Dragon Island that the Old People had insisted on lighting. Those abominations affected everyone...   
  
Morgaine. And then there was Morgaine. Just when I'd think I was rid of her, she'd come back. Who knows what sort of things she'd whispered into my husband's and Lancelet's ears when she was about, that witch... And she was a witch. I wouldn't have been surprised if she hadn't woven a curse over all of us; she's always been jealous over Lancelet. It would not have been above her simply to...  
  
My theories and accusations branched out even farther and wilder, like brambles. Also, the sickness that comes after a night of heavy drinking was coming upon me, souring my mood further. When Arther woke up, I attacked him immediately, and he reciprocated, likely with a headache worse than mine. We fought long, longer than we ever had before. It was misery, but I couldn't stop myself. Again and again, I found worse things to say, until finally I went too far. Right or not, I went one step too far. I was practically screaming by this time, not knowing what I said. I shouted that Arthur was lustful and sinful, that he loved Lancelet better than he loved his own wife, the wife he had bought for himself; that he had only used me to lure my Lancelet into his bed.   
  
The sound of my own words pouring from my mouth shocked me into silence. Arthur, too, was frozen, staring right through me. I covered my mouth with my hand and sobbed once. Had I said those things, those horrible, hateful things... I knew myself to be righteous, and yet...   
  
When Arthur recovered, he was furious. Not once had he ever seemed someone for me to fear, but his anger now crippled me.  
  
"You say that again, and wife or no, love or no, I will kill you, my Gwenyfar."  
  
Arthur was earnest in all that he said and did, much as I now wished things otherwise. I began crying; I nearly pissed myself, I was so very frightened. As he dressed, I tried to steel my shaking nerves. Why must women be so weak? I swear, we cry at everything. A man wouldn't have cried, I berated myself, Lancelet wouldn't have cried. But, I thought, bitterness and venom stopping my trembling, Arthur never would have threatened Lancelet. Oh, no, never would he say such a thing to dear Galahad...  
  
Love left me then.  
  
The years after that ill-conceived Beltane dragged by wearily. I never gave birth to a child, and so that night had been all in vain, in the end. Lancelet, tricked again by that hateful woman, Morgaine, married and was a father. I can attest to the fact that he didn't love her. And so the circle broadened...  
  
Try as I might to rekindle what had once been between my husband and I, between my Lancelet and I, it was gone. So life went back to the way it had been before, out of habit. The only difference was that, this time, everything was a hideous lie. My life, my happiness, had come crashing down about my head, just as I used to fear the sky would... Year after dreary year, we plodded on, never able to leave the ashes of what we'd had for a few scant hours.  
  
A few scant hours, followed by a lifetime of emptiness. We deserved it.  
  
But I don't understand. My entire life, I'd tried to be good. I was sinful, but I wanted so much to be good; I'd tried so hard.   
  
At my time of trial, why wasn't I strong enough? 


End file.
